


The Story of Forever

by monokkrome



Series: A Collection of Stardust [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Flower Metaphors/Symbolism, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oikawa Tooru character study, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stars and Constellations, star symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monokkrome/pseuds/monokkrome
Summary: "People say that forever is a very long time.But when I look at him.Forever doesn’t feel long enough."In a world where soulmates are identified by the aligning of their stars, Oikawa Tooru has only wanted one thing.Forever.Forever with the boy that's always been by his side, Iwaizumi Hajime.But humans are greedy, cowardly creatures, and to want "more" is to fear the risk of losing what you already have.For is "enough" truly ever enough?





	1. Gardenia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to my soulmate universe.
> 
> An introduction to our characters.
> 
> An introduction to my incredibly sappy writing.

_People say that forever is a very long time._

_Forever is thousands of lonely nights and desperate tears, begging for attention, for affection._

_Forever is a silent scream, a soundless cry for help lost in the wind to skies that whisper no words of comfort._

_Forever is a flood of memories, both good and bad—times that you will never experience again and people you will never see again._

_Forever is a life that is not a life._

_It is a prison sentence._

_People say that forever is a very long time._

_But when I look at him._

_Forever doesn’t feel long enough._

* * *

His name on my lips is a gentle, sweet sound. Delicate and kind, as if it has never known cruelty—innocent and pure beyond anyone’s imagination. Every time it falls from my mouth it’s a glass bead, catching every flicker of light it can, shimmering and shining until it’s nothing but an echo of sound. My lips form a smile without meaning to every time that I say it. His name brings me so much happiness, so much contentment, that it hurts.

His name leaves me aching inside. Raw and vulnerable, yet stronger than I’ve ever been. It’s a song that’s equal parts title and prayer. It leaves me gasping for more.

One more sweet resound.

One more echo of light.

 _Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan_.

 _Hajime_.

God I love it.

I don’t know when I started feeling like this. Maybe it was just today, maybe it was yesterday, or maybe, it was the very first moment that we met. Who knows? Who cares? Honestly, it doesn’t matter. He’s here by my side and that’s all that matters to me.

Even if he doesn’t love me the way that I love him. As long as I can call his name, as long as he calls mine—as long as he’s _here_ , that’s enough.

Tears roll down my face, and I try my hardest to blink them away.

“God,” my voice is choked, burdened with words full of hopeless longing, “God let it be enough.”

It’s enough for me.

That’s what I’ve said to myself every night for the last how many countless years, but somehow every night, it never is.

I want more.

I want more so badly that I can’t breathe.

“Please,” part desperate lover and part begging fool I whisper to the darkness, “please let it be enough.”

It will never be enough.

And I know it will never be enough.

* * *

I decided a long time ago that we are both better together. His every darkness matches my every light; my every exhale is perfectly in time with his every inhale. That where I am _this_ , he is _that_ , and we are two puzzle pieces that _snap_ together in an easy, almost unnoticeable way.

Except that you do notice, because the second that we are by each other’s side we burn brighter than any star in the endless sky.

People think that I don’t notice their stares, the whispers, the bated breaths and the yearning looks. But I do. I know they look at us and _want_.

What they _want_ I don’t know. It could be our talent, our looks, our reputation, our attention, our _love_ —it could be the chance to glance at our eyes and to check if we’re the _one_.

It could be anything.

Frankly I don’t give a fuck about what _they_ want.

 _I_ want to be by his side.

Even if our stars never align.

So here I’ll stay.

“Hey,” his voice is gentle rain on misted windows, rhythmic and pleasing to my ears, “Are you okay?”

The smallest worried frown on his face almost makes me flinch. It pulls and tugs on my heart and tells me that he _cares_ about me, even if he doesn’t always show it. And for a second I hesitate, the truth heavy on my tongue as it burns in my mouth.

But then the hesitation is gone, along with any chances of the truth spilling from my lips.

My smile slips on, easy and fake, too bright to look at yet too bright for people to look away.

“Come on,” my words sparkle with high notes, teasing, light, and slightly strained, “I’m _fine_ , you just worry too much Iwa-chan.”

I roll my eyes for dramatic flair, because who would I be without it.

“You’re just being a mom again.”

He looks at me. He _really_ looks at me.

We both know I’m lying but he won’t press it.

At least not now he won’t. He’ll wait until no one else is around. Until we’re both looking up at the vast expanse of starry sky or the seemingly endless dim dark of one of our bedroom ceilings. He’ll wait until the perfect moment, when I’m too tired to lie, too tired to fake, so I’ll have to give him the most honest answers that I can afford to give.

But that time isn’t right now.

So he won’t press it.

“If you say so,” he says instead. His dark orbs scan my face for anything they can use to shake me up. Any cracks. Any stiffness. Any weakness that he might be able to take advantage of.

I don’t let him find anything. My smile stays in place.

His gaze burns on the back of my neck when I turn away, but I ignore it.

I’ve gotten good at that after all these years of hiding and running away.

“So I’m gonna head to class,” I singsong, “Unless you _absolutely_ need me around? Hmm?”

A glance over my shoulder makes my heart clench, like something is pinching painfully inside my ribcage, because Iwaizumi is still looking at me with those dark, dark eyes filled with nothing but barely concealed worry and care. I wonder briefly if there’s something wrong with me. There’s no way that little things like this are supposed to hurt so good and so much.

“Alright,” his mouth says. But his eyes are another story. They tell me the unsaid phrases, the unasked questions—they tell me about something just out of reach but always in sight.

And for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

“Alright,” I hear him repeat, “No, it’s fine. You go ahead, I gotta get to my class too.”

Then he turns away from me with a backhanded wave. I don’t let my eyes linger. It’s easy to look forward again and start moving towards my next class. Seconds later I remember how to breathe.

It’s almost too easy for me to do.

I’ve gotten used to that too.

The pain of separating.

* * *

**“Aligning.”**

The word sends chills down my spine, like frost spreading across the expanse of my back—everything freezes, standing on end, waiting for the impact of the words to follow.

It happens in the last ten minutes of my philosophy class. After an hour of talking of stars and far away things, of galaxies and nebulas, and theories and ideas and brave fools and clever cowards.

The professor’s arm moves smoothly through the air, his hand dances across the white board with practiced elegance. Broad strokes become bold letters, harshly black against the suddenly blinding white.

I suppress a shudder as he turns around. His eyes, cold, grey, and all-knowing search the room for those starry eyes, hidden beneath mundane irises and lowered lashes.

“Aligning.”

It is a word more prayer than statement or fact. There is a certain lightness in how the man says it, as if the term is ethereal—out of reach and placed upon a well-suited pedestal.

My hands tighten into barely but still shaking fists. One set of fingers curls desperately around my pen while the other’s nails find purchase in my own skin. Knuckles turn white as my lungs burn from the lack of air, the frost creeps further across the surface of my skin, leaving cold goosebumps in its wake.

“In this world, each and every person has a soulmate.”

There is a stillness in the room as _that word_ echoes within the confines of the walls. The professor’s cold grey eyes sweep once more over all of us—watching us.

“A soulmate. Another half.” He paces the length of the front of the room as he speaks to us, watching us all the while. “The yin to your yang, the yang to your yin.”

He stops suddenly in the middle of the room, his cold eyes still focused on us.

“The question is, how do we know?”

His body turns to face us, and suddenly I feel small. Suddenly I feel cold, cold, cold.

Distantly, I can hear the ice spread across my body crack.

“How do we know we have soulmates? How do we identify each other as soulmates? What does it mean to have ‘ _your stars align_ ’?”

The ice shatters and I’m left with nothing but the sharp shards cutting into me. The questions are barbed, loud and ringing despite the professor’s quiet voice.

“Well, I will tell you.”

I swallow hard but the lump rapidly forming in my dry throat stays.

Down on the floor, rows below me, the professor raises his hand and carefully taps his cheek—right below his eye.

My gaze focuses onto the movement with painfully crystal clear clarity.

When he drops his hand, a poem spills from his lips.

I know the words by heart. Unwillingly my lips move to form the words, mouthing along to my professor’s speech, syllable by syllable, aching sound by aching sound.

“ _Shining silver._

_More beautiful than anything I could ever know._

_My dearest will have stars in their eyes._

_Glowing bright, ones that mirror mine._

_Upon their breast, atop a beating heart, stars that match mine._ ”

He takes a moment to breathe.

“ _And I will know._ ”

I hold my breath as he pauses again. Cold grey eyes still unforgiving, still scrutinizing, still searching for something.

The shards of shattered frost pierce into my skin. I force myself to breathe.

He opens his mouth.

“ _I am theirs._ ”

The words echo hauntingly in the room, silence blankets over us. Each and every one of us is too afraid to speak.

“All of you,” he continues as if he has not just shaken all of us to our very cores, “have stars in your eyes. A specific pattern, a constellation unique to you and your soulmate. This pattern is normally hidden from view.”

He starts to pace the length of the room again.

“However every person can willingly summon their stars to the surface, or in other words, every person can make their stars visible if they wish too. In cases though of extreme emotion, such as overwhelming happiness, anger, or sadness, the stars can also appear.”

Every tap of his shoes against the linoleum floor is like a slap to my face.

“ _Aligning_ , is the term used for the moment that you and your soulmate recognize each other. This recognition is marked by two things.”

Again he taps his cheek, right below his eye.

“When _your stars align_ , your constellation will glow, it will _shine_ _silver_ , both for you and your soulmate.”

His hand moves down to tap the pocket of his shirt, the one right above his heart. The professor spreads his fingers out so that they span fully across the small space, and for a split second his cold grey eyes go warm.

“Then, mere moments after your stars glow in your eyes, they will be branded upon your skin, right over your heart. A mark to symbolize your recognition, to symbolize one of the events that will change your life forever.”

His eyes are kind for this fleeting moment. No longer judging or watching for weakness.

“Students, forever takes on a whole new meaning when _your stars align_. Forever is no longer the lonely dark night, it is the limitless sky filled with endless bright lights.”

I swallow hard.

The frost shards melt but leave their cuts in my skin, the wounds sting in the open air.

My pen has bent underneath the pressure of my grip.

The bell rings.

Class ends.

And I’m gone.

Gone among the masses of other students.

Gone from the campus.

Gone, hours later, under the weak shield of my own bedsheets.

_Gone. Gone. Gone._

To me, forever might always exist as the dark night.

Because I’m too much of a coward to check for those bright lights.

* * *

 

When I wake up, I am surrounded by soft darkness. A cocoon of my own making and someone is banging on my door while a low buzzing sound gnaws away at my grogginess.

“Asshole!” comes a muffled voice, “Open your fucking door!”

I blink hard as I untangle myself. Long limbs breaking free from messy sheets that twist around my body, just enough so that I can slip away from my bed without tripping over myself. The room is still dark, even when I open my eyes again after my great escape. The only light is coming from my phone, which continues to buzz without a care in the world.

“Oikawa!”

My feet shuffle automatically over to my bedroom door, but my hand fumbles with turning the lock. The land remnants of dreamland are still stuck to me, making it hard to function properly in the real world, at least, for now.

“Thank fucking god,” someone says when I finally get the door open, “I thought you were dead or some shit.”

I lick my lips and taste the tiniest hint of dried blood.

“Well,” I mutter, “I’m not in Hell for being so pretty, so I guess you’re gonna have to hold off on buying me that marble tombstone right now.”

Kuroo laughs as he lowers his hand—the hand that was just banging on my goddamn door, waking me from my numb sleep—and shakes his head. Dark locks shift easily with the motion. In the corner of my vision I can see his phone, it rests contently in his other hand.

My name is lighting up the screen.

“Damn, I was hoping to get that two for one discount this week too.”

The heel of my hand finds purpose in rubbing the sleep away from my eyes.

“Oh?” my words are still slightly slurred as I stumble out of my room and into the hallway, “Who else is headed down to see Mr. 666 with me?”

My dark haired visitor moves so I can get past him. His thumb tapping against the glass screen to end his nth attempt to call me. I’m in dire need of some food or whatever, or anything really since I’m waking up now. So the kitchen is the place I wanna be.

Kuroo follows me, laughing under his breath about my ‘weirdass shuffle-walk thing’, but eventually he gets around to answering my question.

“Either Lev or Bokuto, depending on what their scores were.”

Somehow I make it to the kitchen without banging my knee into the wall or my shitty coffee table.

“Fuck, did their test already get graded?”

The fridge seems pretty promising today, since Suga said something about going to buy groceries with Yaku yesterday when he dropped in after class.

“Yaku just texted me that a foursome comprised of himself, Akaashi, Lev, and Bokuto have gathered together in the owls’ apartment to check online for the scores, so yeah I guess so.”

“Rest,” I have to squint my eyes against the brightness of the fridge, “in pieces guys.”

“Seriously.”

“Speaking of Cat Mom, thank god for Cat Mom and Suga, because I spy some milk bread in the back of the fridge. And some?—I peak underneath something covered in tinfoil—fish?”

“Fuck me, really? Get me some of _that_.”

“Sorry, _but_ you’re not my type. I’ll grab you the fish though if you get some cups, Yaku made some iced tea it looks like.”

For a second Kuroo says nothing, and I feel his eyes burn through my shirt. Golden eyes stare right at my cracked heart as it beats, the sound echoes in the hollowness of my chest.

I hear his mouth open and close, a noise of frustration follows, but he says nothing.

His words ring loud between us anyways.

_I know I’m not your type. How can you have a type when you’ve always only been-_

We both ignore the skip in our conversation, the lapse in our upbeat mood. There’s a reason that Kuroo and I get along.

The two of us know when to shut up (even if it doesn’t seem like it) and we know when to keep going.

“Actually,” the dark haired boy says as if we never stopped talking, “Yamaguchi made that as a thank you gift for your help last week, I just brought it over. That’s why I was pounding on your door. Like, I’ve got a key and I know I can waltz right in but it’s kinda freaky when there’s nothing but silence.”

Behind me I can hear him shift around my kitchen, the cupboards open and close with dull thuds and muted creaks as he grabs us cups.

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave him off as I cradle the food and the jug of iced tea in one arm and close the fridge with a bump of my hip, “I was out cold. How am I supposed to blast music when I’m lost among pillows and blankets and sleep?”

Kuroo shrugs at me, a cup in each of his hands.

“If anyone could do it, you could,” he tells me.

“Thanks,” my eyes roll, “really.”

He follows me, sitting in the seat across from me with familiar motions—the cups clatter on the table but don’t fall over. I hand him the jug of iced tea and as he pours I place the food on the tabletop.

When I come back with a fork for him he’s already somehow started to eat the fish I snatched for him.

“Gross as hell,” these words aren’t flat, they aren’t false notes, they’re real this time around. We smirk at each other as he flips me off.

“Don’t you fucking dare drop any of that on my floor,” I warn him as I sit down.

“Wouldn’t _dream_ of it asshole.”

“ _Please_ ,” I bite into my bread, “we both know your dreams are better with me in them.”

We talk shit back and forth until we run out of food.

 

It’s a moment of contentment and easy routine, removed from the rest of the world. For a little while there is no constant stream of thoughts that wander down paths I don’t want them to. For a little while there is nothing but effortless companionship.

Compared to the rest of the day, it’s a dream.

Then Kuroo decides that the time for pretending is over.

Because all dreams have to end sometime.

“So, mind telling me why the fuck you blew everyone off today with a couple of shitty texts, that, I quote, read: [I’m tired as hell. Gonna sleep my last class off.]? Oikawa, Iwaizumi is freaking the fuck out, he’s out for blood. It took me most of my ending shift at the bar to convince him not to march over here and kick your ass.”

I don’t flinch at the mention of Iwaizumi, even though I want to. Instead my shoulders move with practiced ease—entirely fake. “Rough day?”

Golden eyes glance up and down my face, “Rough day?”

I look away. The stars beckon my eyes as they dance in and out of sight beyond the glass of the giant window-wall of my apartment. I can usually pretend that everything is alright, I can usually bullshit my way out of Kuroo’s pestering, and sooner or later I know he’d leave. Unsatisfied and a little worried, but he’d assume I’d just had an off day. He’d assume that I’m perfectly okay.

But for some reason today, I can’t.

(In hindsight, I was probably just tired. Tired of everything.)

The word slips out before I can even stop it.

“Stars.”

And somehow, from that one word, the dark haired boy pieces my fragmented picture together.

“You talked about aligning to-”

“ _I_ ,” the sounds spilling from my mouth are sharp, barely softened by false sweetness, “ _I_ didn’t talk about _aligning_ today. My _professor_ talked about _aligning_ today.”

Kuroo goes silent and I curse myself.

My answer was too quick. The sudden reminder of today’s pain too much.

I press my lips together and keep staring out into the far away world.

Two years ago, I made the mistake of getting drunk with Kuroo when we were roommates freshman year. We knew each other from playing volleyball—my team against his—and it was easy to be comfortable around him.

Two years ago, I made the mistake of telling this dark haired boy everything.

And by everything, I mean, _everything_.

“One of these days,” Kuroo whispers, his low voice laced with worried kindness. He’s looking at me but I refuse to look at him. My eyes stay faithful to the faint dots of white against the blackness of the sky. “One of these days it’ll be too much, and what are you going to do then?”

I don’t answer him, and he doesn’t expect an answer anyways so he keeps going.

“Are you just going to keep quiet? Keep bleeding out from the stab wound _you_ inflicted on yourself? Because the way I see it right now, you will. You’re going to kill yourself like this.”

He shakes his head, but unlike earlier the motion isn’t easy, it isn’t teasing. The black locks sway, disappointed, somehow wilted.

“You’ll be living an empty life Oikawa. I don’t want you to live that life. _None_ of us want you to live that life.”

I pride myself on suppressing my flinch when Kuroo gets to his feet. He moves swiftly through my apartment, snatching up his phone and shoving on his shoes within seconds. The black cat takes deep breathes. I know that he’s trying to calm himself down before he says something that cuts me too deep.

But at the same time he’s trying to find the words that will.

I keep silent the entire time, my eyes still focused on the far away lights. Always out of reach.

Kuroo finds his sharpened knives just as he leaves, his hand resting on the doorknob, one foot out of the door.

“Least of all the very person that you love but are too afraid to tell him.”

Then he disappears with a quiet ‘goodnight’.

Once his footsteps fade away, the suffocating silence breaks. A quiet exhale of breath, almost too quiet to even call a sound, escapes me.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, and the distance stars disappear.

In the fleeting darkness the little pinpricks of hurt lessen.

My eyes flutter open again.

And I find tears in them.

The quiet exhale of breath, almost too quiet to even call a sound, turns into heavy, burdened sobs muffled only by the cradle of my hands.

“It’s enough,” words are choked and strained by tears, “It’s enough for me.”

Later, my own voice haunts me in my dreams.

* * *

 

_“I don’t get it,” he says as his fingers trace over the too big binoculars, “How can you say that?”_

_I break my eyes away from the millions of lights above us to look at him._

_“Iwa-chan,” the sound delicate and kind, “Iwa-chan, I don’t need more stars. It’s enough.”_

_His brow furrows._

_It is a summer night with a warm breeze and the sweet scent of lingering love. We are both ten years old again. Thousands upon thousands of stars twinkle above our heads, blinking in and out of existence, like they are playing a game of ever ongoing hide and seek. Iwaizumi sits beside me on a hill top, a dark navy blue blanket spread underneath us._

_We are ten years old and I know I am in love._

_Love doesn’t hurt yet like I know it will._

_“I still don’t understand,” he mutters as he turns the binoculars over in his hands._

_I repeat, like a broken record, “It’s enough for me.”_

_We are ten years old and I know that it is enough._

_Just being by his side is enough to sate my love._

_Enough to make me smile, for real, with no falsity._

_Enough to make me dream of all the adventures we can go on._

_Enough to make me feel like I love him so much that I couldn’t love him anymore._

_(Until I find out that yes, yes I can love him more.)_

_We are ten years old and it is enough to make me dream of a future where we are together forever._

_Where forever is not yet a long time filled with pain and loneliness._

_Where forever is not yet not long enough to spend with him._

_We are ten years old and being by him is enough for me._

_Iwaizumi suddenly looks up at me, his hands stop moving and his eyes seem like they’re bright enough to light up the entire sky._

_“What’s enough though?” He frowns. “What are you talking about I-”_

_His chest expands with air._

_“I don’t understand. How can you_ not _want more stars? When they’re so pretty? I’d-”_

_Green eyes glance down, a tongue runs over dry lips. He swallows hard and somewhere in that pause I feel like I missed something that night. Something so important that went unsaid._

_“I’d go with you to get all the stars you’d ever want.”_

_The words_ ‘if you asked’ _are silent but I hear them anyways._

_My heart swells, a smile stretches across my face and I can’t help but giggle. The sound delighted beyond belief. It makes Iwaizumi look up at me with something like awe across his face._

_Then the smallest of smiles appears on his mouth and he laughs with me._

_I fall in love over and over and over again._

_“Iwa-chan,” I whisper, my voice full of innocent breathlessness, “Iwa-chan, would you really?”_

_The night is so much quieter when he stops laughing. I miss it immediately and somewhere in the back of my ten year old mind I scold myself for asking such a dumb question._

_Iwaizumi’s brows knit together again. His hands tighten on the binoculars, he looks down at them then back up at me again. His lips press together in contemplation. Thoughts too quick for me to read flit through his bright eyes._

_After staring at me for what felt like a very long time, small hands reach for the cord hanging on his neck. I watch in wonder as my best friend slips the thin cord loop from around his neck. It hangs limply from his hands and I open my mouth to ask what he’s going to do with it._

_But the words never make it past my throat because all of a sudden Iwaizumi’s hands are slipping the cord over my head and his fingertips brush lightly against my neck. A breeze blows past us for a millisecond._

_I shiver but not because of the wind._

_My skin burns where he touched me in a caress that was not a caress._

_“Of course I would,” he tells me, “Of course I would.”_

_A single finger points to the cord around my neck._

_“I’m giving you this, so that when you decide you wanna go get more stars, you’ll have something to look with them for.”_

_He looks away from me, back down to the binoculars in his lap. The cord is long, too long for a ten year old’s neck, so it can rest comfortably there without hurting me in the process._

_“You’ll have to come get me though,” Iwaizumi whispers._

_“Of course Iwa-chan,” I breathe, “Of course I will, it’s a promise.”_

_How could I ever even think of leaving you behind?_

_How could I ever even think about leaving someone as imperfectly perfect as you behind?_

_The bright eyes look straight into mine then, and they do not waver._

_No stars appear in them, but in that moment they don’t need to._

_Even at ten years old I know he is mine. I know it by the way he says my name. I know it by the way that he looks at me and I look at him. I know it by the way he laughs when he hears my laugh and the way his smile lights up after seeing my own._

_Even at ten years old I know that Iwaizumi Hajime is my soulmate, the only person that I will ever love._

_“Oi-…Tooru, you promise?”_

_He holds out his pinky finger and I can’t wrap mine fast enough around it._

_My head bobs eagerly, “I promise! I promise Hajime! I’ll bring you whenever and wherever I go to look for stars!”_

_We shake on it._

_“Keep it,” he whispers, “Keep your promise dummy.”_

_“I will,” I whisper back to him fervently, “I will. I will. I will.”_

_The smile I give him is real and genuine, and I think he even gasps. A sharp inhale of breath that may or may not have been._

_“We’re better together,” I tell him, “We burn brighter than even the brightest star.”_

_He smiles back at me, and it is nothing like his earlier one. This smile stretches across his face, it makes his eyes burn with intensity, and this time I’m the one gasping._

_“We burn brighter than even the brighter star,” he repeats, his eyes glitter, “Me too. I think so too, Tooru.”_

_This is the moment that I decide that no one will ever compare to the boy in front of me._

_It is summer night. The stars shine overhead. The crickets chirp in the background. Our parents call us from down the hill that we sit side by side on. We share a smile and race each other back down._

_I go home with a pair of binoculars._

_Iwa-chan goes home with a promise._

_That night I go to bed on cloud nine. I am among the stars I am so happy. I dream of spending summer after summer with the only person I would ever want to spend them with. I dream of days filled with soft clouds and oppressive heat. I dream of nights with sweet breezes and the scent of lingering love._

_There are fake stars on my ceiling that glow and shine, and I think to myself that they will never match up to the real thing._

_We are ten years old._

_And back then I didn’t know love could ever hurt this much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To begin, this work is a long time coming. I started it back in the summer of 2015 for several reasons, but most of all because I found myself getting really invested into studying the character of Oikawa Tooru.
> 
> I ended up finding myself connecting with the canonical character, the perfectionism, the ambition he put forth, and the anxieties that he must feel that the manga doesn't necessarily showcase. Even characters are human after all, and I always wondered what kind of pressure Oikawa had to endure to keep up with the reputation of being the "Grand King". 
> 
> In a lot of ways, if he wasn't so confident, or if he had been more anti-social, or if he hadn't had Iwaizumi to reign him in, he might have just been an older Kageyama you know?
> 
> On the other hand, I also found it interesting that at lot of fics on AO3 that treated Iwaizumi and Oikawa as this painfully accurate humans, were always from Iwaizumi's point of view. We continue to see Oikawa as an force that we never truly understand, so I wanted to explore that kind of narrative as well.
> 
> But I digress, this is "The Story of Forever". It's the story of my portrayal of Oikawa Tooru and the stars that he loves.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.


	2. Freesia

If I ran, I wonder if he’d chase me. Would he come running after me, pain and hurt clear in his words as he shouted my name? Would he attempt to grab onto the fluttering tails of my jacket as I disappeared out of reach?

Would he try to stop me in the first place?

Or would he do nothing?

Would he accept that I’m gone and that’s _it_?

Would he move on?

I press my forehead against the cool surface of the table. My eyes shut against the harsh light streaming in from the windows.

“Of course he’d care idiot,” I whisper to myself, “He’s your best friend. He cares. He always has.”

But he wouldn’t care the way I would care if _he_ disappeared.

His world wouldn’t shatter. It wouldn’t cease to be. He wouldn’t collapse into a sobbing mess of broken pieces behind closed doors where he thought no one would hear him.

(Or would he?)

He wouldn’t be stopped by something like my disappearance.

And I love him for that.

And I hate him for that.

And I hate myself more for that.

Never, _never_ would I ever want him to be _stopped_ by something like my disappearance.

People like Iwaizumi are the strong type. The kind of people who can weather storms, the ones who hit harder after being hit. _He_ is the kind of person who’d run on broken legs to get what he wanted.

Iwaizumi Hajime could be Atlas. The world upon his back, burdened by all its weight, and he still wouldn’t stop moving. He wouldn’t be stopped by something like my disappearance.

If anything, if I did disappear, he’d come running after me.

And he wouldn’t stop until he caught me.

On good days, I feel like I’m that kind of person. Running and running towards my goal until I can taste the blood in my mouth and my lungs scream a war cry of pain. I feel free. I feel invincible. I feel untouchable by anyone or anything.

I am Oikawa Tooru, and I fucking rule the land.

On bad days though, I’m not running towards something.

I’m running away.

Always running away.

“I’m delirious,” my words come out slurred, as I lift my head up. My eyes make an attempt at opening.

The room spins.

They snap shut again.

I’m stupid and delirious thinking about things that will only hurt me in the end.

“Who the hell even falls asleep with their AC on full blast, wearing nothing but a thin cotton shirt and alien print boxers?”

“That’d be you Asskawa.”

I can’t open my eyes fast enough.

He stands beside me, looking down at my pitiful form with a frown on his face. His brows are knit together and worry has never looked so good on anyone before. Green eyes glitter in the morning light, or maybe that’s just more stupid talk, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s still beautiful to me.

My heart thuds, heavy in my chest and I slip on my smile with ease, trying to paint over any cracks in my armor.

“Iwa-”

“Cut the bullshit.”

Of course he sees right through it.

Then suddenly my bangs are being brushed back and his hand is pressing against my forehead.

For a moment, I slip up and gasp. It’s the smallest of sharp intakes, all vulnerability and heartbreak and lovesick fool in one little loss of breath.

His touch is kind. It’s soft and warm, familiar and loving. His hand is a little rough, from years of spiking volleyballs and adventuring in the hills behind our houses, but that just makes it so much more real.

It’s him.

It’s him condensed into a single gentle action.

It’s too much.

“Jesus Oikawa, you’re burning up.”

He pulls away from me, and I miss his warmth already.

A fever has never felt so cold.

(It’s never enough.)

“That’s okay Iwa-chan,” I laugh a little, my eyes flutter shut again, “That’s okay.”

“No it isn’t, idiot.”

There are sounds of shuffling, a rustling of a plastic bag, and the opening of cardboard boxes. Then the noises get further away. Distantly I can make out the rattle of pills and the clatter of ice dropping into a cup then some other thing that I can’t pinpoint.

“ _Iwa-chan_.”

“Hold on a sec, let me get this together.”

A small whine, needy and pathetic escapes me. The quiet desperateness of it even makes me cringe, because I can’t believe how _annoying_ , how _irritating_ it is.

But then all the noise ceases. Like Iwaizumi has been frozen by my slight admission of weakness. I can hear what sounds like a soft curse, followed by the slow inhale and exhale of a deep breath.

Against my better judgement (or maybe I’m just too far gone to care), I make the sound again.

“Hold on a sec,” Iwaizumi repeats, but now the words are rushed, “I’m coming.”

My eyes never open but I can still feel him when he comes back. His presence washes over me, it bathes me in warmth and banishes the lonely chill that’d settled over me. Bangs are pushed back and something freezing and wet is pressed against my forehead.

I sigh in contentment, the burning hit on my face subsides with the cold but the warmth of his care remains.

“Better?” he asks me. I nod. “Good. Then hold it in place while I get the medicine out.”

As my fingers wrap around the bag of ice and replace Iwaiuzmi’s, a soft hum fills my throat. It travels down to my chest, brushing past all the gaping holes where unsaid words disappeared as if to try and rouse them from their hiding places.

It doesn’t work. The unsaid things stay hidden and locked away.

But that’s okay, because I’m sure if I said them now that I’d only be left with regret and the taste of bitterness on my tongue.

The sound of rattling pills derails my hazy train of thought apart.

“Oikawa,” his hand settles over mine, “I’ll hold onto this for you for a second. So hold your head up and take the medicine. It’ll make you tired, but your fever should be gone by tomorrow.”

I grumble.

“ _Oikawa_.”

With a great sigh that breaks my humming I slip my hand from underneath his and lift my head up from the table. Iwaizumi wastes no time in shoving the pillow into my open palm. My eyes crack open, but only slightly.

He motions to the glass of water on the table with his eyes. They watch me with unwavering attention, the green irises are rimmed in mixture of worry and anger— a familiar sight that makes me smile as I reach for the glass.

The pill is tasteless but I’m still glad that it washes down nicely as I knock the water back. My throat nearly sings in relief as I drain it. The dark haired boy holding my ice pack snorts as he pulls back, away from me, again. Relief paints his face and a single frantic thought screams in my mind.

 _He’s leaving_.

I panic.

“Don’t go,” my words are a little slurred as I wrench the glass away from my lips, “Don’t go Iwa-chan.”

I know that it’s not a logical thought, but I’m past the point of understanding that. My mind is hazy, and I just don’t want him to leave me. He’s here and I want him to stay here.

“Trashkawa,” his free hand wraps around my wrist, and he forces me to set the glass down before I can hurt myself.

(Too late for that. Too, too late for that.)

“Please?” It is a small sound, soft and weak, and _tired_.

“I won’t,” he tells me, his voice softer than it was before, “I won’t, come on let’s get you onto the couch.”

He tugs me up by wrist and I stand without complaint. His movements are unhurried, they’re careful and easy as he guides me over to the couch. Slowly he sits me down into the cushions, one hand still clinging to my wrist while the other gently pressing on my shoulder.

 Iwaizumi’s been here hundreds of times and the place is as much his as it is mine despite the fact that I’m the only one living here.

I wish he lived here too.

“Stay here,” it is an order, not a request, “And cover yourself with the blanket next to you. I’ll be back once I make you some food. We need to get something in your stomach before you start to feel really nauseous and feel like throwing up.”

“I know that,” the mumble barely makes it past my lips.

“No Asskawa, if you knew that you would’ve taken some medicine yesterday after Kuroo came over. You’re lucky he texted me last night to check up on you this morning.”

My heart can’t decide whether it loves or hates the black cat.

“Yeah,” fingers graze over soft stars woven into cloth before they take a handful of them, “I guess.”

Iwaizumi pulls back, “You guess?”

Green eyes look at me. Their brightness is painfully blinding.

Nails dig into the stars, piercing them with barely concealed emotion. What emotion I don’t know because I don’t know _what_ to feel.

Thoughts and feelings and words and screams fill my head. They tell me this and then they tell me that. They swim in and out of each other’s seas, blending together like paint upon a canvas until I cannot tell where one desire begins and where one fear ends.

So I don’t say anything.

He frowns.

“Oika-”

“I’m tired,” a weak smile paints over my mouth, “And I could really use that food.”

I can see him wavering. It’s the way that his mouth pulls down just a little bit more. The way his lips part as if to say something but he says nothing because the words are too heavy on his tongue. It’s the way that his brow wrinkles together in concentration. The way that his hands every so slightly open and close, the fingers twitching like they’re seconds away from madly grabbing onto something that’s already moving out of reach.

I can see him wavering. It’s the way that his thoughts act as if they are ripples upon the surface of a pond, disturbing the calmness of the green pools he calls eyes.

So I give him the push both he and I need.

“Please. Please Iwa-chan?”

He blinks.

The ripples are gone.

“Yeah,” the dark haired boy shakes his head a little, “Yeah just-”

He takes a step back.

“Wait here, the food shouldn’t take long. And cover yourself with that blanket.”

Iwaizumi moves away from me slowly, his eyes faithful to mine like they’re afraid that if they look away I’ll disappear.

And a little voice whispers to me: _He cares_. _He cares like you want him to_.

It’s an answer to my questions from earlier, a selfish little sound that makes my heart beat a little harder.

“I will,” the reply comes easily, and I make sure to look effortless as I drape the blanket over myself, “See?”

He’s doesn’t believe me. I know he doesn’t believe. But he still keeps his words on a tight leash, not a single sound of what he’s really thinking slips through his lips.

“If you fall asleep that’s fine,” he says instead, “The medicine might make you more tired than nauseous. And—he sees my open mouth, the silent _please don’t go_ on my tongue, and his eyes soften—don’t worry. I’m not going to leave, I’ll spend the night. Okay?”

I fall back. I’m not even sure when I started to lean forward, when the quiet desperation started to sing in my veins instead of hum—but I fall back. Everything leaves me all at once in a single heavy yet breathless:

“Oh.”

A small millimeter smile, fragile but real, shatters the fake one on my face.

“Oh. Okay.”

And it is okay.

I feel _okay_. More than I’ve felt for weeks with my head filled with _this_ class and _that_ project and the sound of my own voice trying to drown out his. And I almost want to laugh. It’s funny how the thing that hurts you most, is also the thing that saves you from your pain.

Iwaizumi makes a sound, half belief and half suspicion but all concern and care. “Sleep if you need to, but once you wake up I’m shoving whatever mess I’ve made down your throat. And don’t complain about the taste because I don’t give a fuck, you’re lucky I made something in the first place.”

“But _Iwa-chan_ ,” soft, sleepy laughter coats over my teasing, “We both know you would have totally cooked me something anyways.”

“Shut the hell up,” the barely concealed smile he gives me in return cuts the harshness of his words, “God just go to sleep, at least that way you’ll be _quiet_.”

Then he leaves me, yet the sound of his footsteps fill the empty space with so much of _him_ that I laugh at myself under my breath.

Far off sounds of the opening of cupboards and the soothing sounds of Iwaizumi’s cooking—the click of the gas stove, the metallic echo of pots clanging against pots, and the faint electronic beeping of the rice cooker—remind me of last night.

Kuroo’s visit yesterday was like a memory dream, one where you dream of something that happens often, one that you could touch if only you’d reach out to it.

Iwaizumi’s visit now is like a _real_ dream, one where you dream of something that you want so _bad_ , but you know that it’s impossible no matter how hard you try, no matter how hard you work—it is forever out of reach.

My eyes close, and the sound signs of Iwaizumi’s presence becomes my lullaby.

I’m delirious and stupid. Tired and sick. Happy but hurting.

But that’s okay.

I find comfort in the pain.

Because if this is hurting, if this is a thousand barely there paper cuts on my heart, then the pain is worth the happiness it brings.

He is worth the pain.

* * *

_Dreams can only sustain you for so long though, because once the fantasy ends you’ll realize one thing._

_You’re just as alone as you were before, except lonelier now for your small indulgence._

_But I’ve learned to cope with the hollowness._

* * *

What I see behind closed eyes is always different, yet it is somehow always the same.

My head and my heart seem to come to a mutual understanding under the cover of darkness. They speak in whispered secrets and transparent, blurred images—they show me flashes of times I can’t return to. Years that drift by me without rhyme or reason, without pattern to define them.

I am ten.

I am seventeen.

I am five.

I am now.

Sometimes I’m alone. No one and nothing around me—a stillness that becomes my safe space as it fills with only the sound of my own faint breathing. I can hear my own heartbeat, steady and strong, in time with each of my inhales and exhales. Other times I’m drowning in a crowd of people, suffocating underneath their ignorant praise and their screams of selfish lust. I have to grin and grit my teeth as sullied hands wrap themselves around me. Their hands become a cage, one created out of their preconceived image of me, holding me captive as the buzzing of their voices deafens me.

When I wake up from _those_ dreams, I’m more tired than I was when I went to sleep.

But I don’t always have them.

Every now and then, I’m happy.

I’m on the court, my team around me. Their eyes and turned backs communicating more support than any of the cheers coming from the stands. Makki rolls his eyes at me but his lips part in a gentle, lazy smile. Matsun laughs in the front row, his head shaking as his cotton candy haired pair rolls his eyes at _him_. I can hear Yahaba shouting at me from the sidelines and I have to bit my lip to hold back a laugh when Kyoutani flips him off.

And, of course, Iwa-chan is here. His mouth set and his eyes hard but sparkling with anticipation. He glances between me and the net, as if to tell me to “hurry the fuck up”.

So I move. The ball leaves my hands. Legs glide over the floor until suddenly I’m in the air. My back arches, my arm reaches back before it _finally_ cuts through the empty space and rubber meets skin. All eyes follow the almost too fast ball as it hurls over the net and slams back down onto the opposite side of the court. Even as I’m falling I can see how the other team scrambles too late to try and receive it.

My feet touch the ground.

My team cheers.

My palm stings.

I’m on fire. Burning brighter than any star in the sky.

Iwaizumi looks at me. He doesn’t smile. But he gives me a look, a single nod, and that is enough.

Between us silence has never been so filled with words. I hear _good job_ , _nice serve_ , _well done_ , _let’s do it again_ , _one more point_ , and so much more.

I hear _perfect toss, perfect timing, perfect partner_.

When I wake up from _these_ dreams, I don’t feel tired.

I feel invincible.

* * *

The first thought when my eyes flutter open again is a simple one.

 _Fuck this_.

I’m Oikawa Tooru, and yes I’m desperately, hopelessly in love with Iwaizumi Hajime, but you know what?

He wouldn’t want me to be this way.

Love hurts, but I’ve lived with that hurt for years now. Love hurts, and it will always hurt, but I need to get a hold of myself. I can deal with love.

_I can conquer it._

This isn’t high school anymore. I can’t destroy myself like this anymore. It doesn’t matter if it’s my body or my mind or my heart—I can’t.

Not if I want to stay by his side.

It’ll be just another match. Just another game. All I need to do is keep my eyes open and find a way to win. All it will take is hard work and perseverance.

I close my eyes again. My chest expands with a single deep breath and deflates just as smoothly as I exhale.

For a while, I just lie there. (Sometime during my escape to dreamland, Iwaizumi must have moved me because now I’m sprawled lazily over the entire length of the couch instead of sitting up and regretting my life.) Keeping my eyes closed I breathe in and out, processing my newest epiphany.

Seconds blur into minutes and somewhere between the AC shutting off and the deafening absence of white noise, I hear the sound of someone else’s breathing.

My vision is a mess, shadows and darkness and dim moonlight all blended together, indecipherable from each other. But ever so slowly my eyes adjust to the mixture of night, shapeless images sharpening and becoming the pieces of my apartment once more.

The first color I make out is white. The white of a t-shirt, blinding as it collects the dewdrops of moonlight that drip into the living room. My gaze travels up, drinking in the sight of tan, sun kissed skin that soon becomes the sharp edge of a strong jaw. His eyes are closed, his head tilted back against the chair’s cushion, and his lips are parted by his barely audible breathing.

An open book sits in his lap, his hands gently holding onto its pages.

I swallow hard, the edges of my lips unable to control themselves as they pull into a small smile.

(Kuroo tells me that when I look at him, during the times that I think no one is looking at _me_ , I smile like that. The faintest of grins filled with painful longing and pure adoration.)

I can’t help it.

Soft giggles escape me as I close my eyes again, relaxing against the soft pillows of the couch. Moments later my consciousness flickers between the moonlit room of reality and the star-filled backdrop of dreamland.

But his voice, his quiet, less than a whisper voice pulls me back to the ground, away from the skies.

“I know you’re awake asshole, mind actually getting up now?”

My smile grows.

“Iwa-chan,” the words are soft, still half asleep, “Shhhhh.”

“Don’t ‘shhhh’ me. Get up, you’ve got to eat.”

“What a mom Iwa-chan.”

I can hear him get up. The rustle of book pages fills my ears as he sets it down somewhere. The muted sigh of the chair cushion as he stands.

And the barely there sounds of his footsteps as he comes closer.

“Oh? Then can I smack your smartass mouth like a mom too?”

“ _So mean_.”

“Yeah, well, you’d think by now you’d be used to it.”

The back and forth of our voices is easy. They fit together like puzzle pieces, creating a seamless symphony of quick wit and faked emotions. I can hear the smile in each of Iwaizumi’s remarks, the warmth that dulls their cutting edge.

“Seriously though,” something heavy makes the edges of the couch dip, a body rests gingerly against my side, “you should get up and eat something.”

I crack open only one of my chocolate gems, and only so that I can eye him properly.

“That sounded like an exact quote from Yaku or something.”

He rolls his own greens.

“Very funny. No, I didn’t quote Cat Mom, I’m just telling you to get off your ass.”

Reluctantly I sigh as I move to sit up, rubbing my eyes of sleep sand before finally opening both of them.

“What time is it?”

His gaze darts down to the watch on his wrist, and I take a second to appreciate the delicateness of Iwaizumi’s eyelashes. They don’t curl in the way that Europeans’ or Americans’ do, nor do they curl in the false way that girls force them to. Instead they swoop downwards, unassuming and entirely him.

“Almost eleven o’clock,” gears turn in his head and thoughts flicker across his face, “You’ve been sleeping for almost twelve hours now.”

My brow furrows, and the smile slips from my face.

“Twelve hours? Iwa-chan, you didn’t have to stay-”

Green eyes shoot me a knowing look as he waves my words off.

“I said I would stay didn’t I?”

I snap my mouth shut.

“I said I would stay,” Iwaizumi continues, “So I did. Besides, since _your highness_ was sleeping all day I just did homework and studied for my next test after making your sick person food. I finished about three hours ago, so I’ve just been reading and napping since then.”

He shrugs, “And before you say something about how I should’ve left to eat. It’s fine. I just made lunch and dinner with the things you had in your fridge.”

At this time it should not surprise me that Iwaizumi Hajime knows almost everything about me. To the point that he can predict what questions I will ask and the order that I will ask them in.

And it doesn’t surprise me. Not really.

But it does make my heart flutter a little. Knowing that this person in front of me is the one that knows me the best and is also the one that _I_ know the best.

“You spoil me too much Iwa-chan,” I tease, “It’s no wonder that I can just laze around all day.”

Another roll of his eyes.

“If you call sleeping off medicine for twelve hours ‘lazing’ around.”

“Well,” smiling for him, _with_ him, _because_ of him is easier than breathing, “we could laze together now then, since you’re _oh so_ disappointed with me for not ‘lazing around properly’. Hmm?”

The deadpan look he gives me is half tired disbelief and half hidden affection. It’s one that I’m familiar with, an expression reserved only for me. It makes laughter bubble up in my chest, sweet sounds temporarily filling the hollow spaces between my ribs where emptiness usually reigns supreme. Between snickers, a thought pops up, an innocent and naïve thought. It is only four words long but it gives me the power to cling to my newest mask.

 _I can do this_.

I could win over love like this. Just by being myself and enjoying moments like this with Iwaizumi. Covering up the pain with the happiness.

Just like this, it would be so easy.

It _is_ so easy.

“Is there even a ‘right’ way for something to do nothing?”  

“Well if there Iwa-chan, we can find it together.”

“Jesus,” he shakes his head, “I can’t believe you.”

“But you didn’t say no, now did you?”

The corners of his mouth quirk up and meteors flicker across his eyes.

“No,” he says, “No I guess not.”

I laugh again.

So easy. So, so easy.

“What was that movie you were talking about the other day?” Iwaizumi asks as he reaches for the remote on the table, “The one about the butterfly?”

Images of daisies and green-winged butterflies dance at the edges of my vision. The soft, heavy scent of lavender tingles in my nose. A sea of purple washes away the fluttering butterflies and the swaying daisies. The wind picks up and petals scatter.

When it dies down all I can envision are fields and fields of brilliant blue sweet peas in every direction.

“ _Today is the Day I Say Goodbye_ ,” I say, the movie title slips from my mouth, half whisper and half smile, “It’s supposed to be beautiful.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“Beautiful?”

“In a tragic way.”

He looks away from me as if to say “Of course”.

Across from us, the TV flickers on at the touch of a button. Soft light filling the dim space, banishing the shadows to the corners of the room where they cannot reach us. The volume is low and the picture on the screen changes as Iwaizumi searches for the movie. His eyes scan over the other recordings and his fingers tap away at the remote.

“ _Today is the Day I Say Goodbye_ ,” he repeats slowly, like he’s trying to savor the words, “It sounds like your kind of movie.”

“My kind of movie?” I echo as shift, brining my legs up so that he can sit properly on the couch.

The words ‘perfectly fitting puzzle pieces’ come to mind as he moves without thinking, his body naturally responding to my own movements. He doesn’t even say a word as I lay my legs over his lap. Instead his free hand rests freely on my legs, his fingers already absent mindedly drawing circles onto the blanket covered skin.

“Mmhmm. You always like these movies, beautiful ones with bittersweet or tragic endings. The ones that start with laughter and end in tears. Ones that leave you hollow inside, and yearning for something better.”

His eyes perk up at little when he finally finds the movie. I turn my eyes away from him just in time to see the first glimpses of the opening credits.

“How poetic Iwa-chan,” I tell him half-heartedly.

“It’s true though isn’t it Asskawa?”

There’s a pause in our conversation as a butterfly floats across the screen. Bright green against the black backdrop.

“The tragedy makes them more beautiful,” my whispers follow the butterfly as it drifts over a patch of daisies soaked in morning dew, “Because you know the happiness will not last. You learn to appreciate the little moments. The small gems shining for all their worth as they try to light the dark path.”

I take a moment to breathe as someone enters the view of the camera—it’s the main character, sitting upon the top of a hill during the dim hours of the morning. They smile at the butterfly, reaching out toward it as it flies closer and closer to them.

“Like glass, it shines and shimmers in the light. It’s solid, heavy—tangible. But the thing is Iwa-chan.”

The main character reaches out, fingers almost brushing against the small fluttering creature.

“It’s only ever glass, and glass is not diamond no matter how it shines in the light. And you know what happens to glass?”

The green-winged butterfly lands on their outstretched finger; a smile comes over their face, lighting it up as they pull their hand back toward themselves. But the butterfly starts to panic. Its wings beat faster, threatening to take off. The main character panics, their other hand comes up as they try to trap the creature, but they’re too late.

“It breaks.”

In the end they are left grasping at empty air as the green-winged butterfly flies of into the distance.

“How poetic,” Iwaizumi murmurs, returning my earlier words to me as sadness washes over the character’s face.

I glance at him, just for a moment.

His fingers continue to trace circles in my skin. His other hand rests on my knee, natural as can be. His green eyes still focused on the unfolding story before us.

“You asked Iwa-chan.”

He glances at me, his lips still quirked in their small smile.

“Oikawa?”

“Mmmhmm?”

“Just watch the damn movie.”

I grin back, laughter washing out the taste of tragedy on my tongue.

“Whatever you say Iwa-chan.”

So I do.

My eyes take in the images of daisies and green-winged butterflies.

My nose tingles with the scent of lavender.

And later, I watch as fields and fields of sweet peas fill the horizon.

Because in this moment, I am happy.

Because in this moment, it is easy.

* * *

In the back of my mind, a quiet voice whispers to me that _this_ will not last.

And I believe it.

But for now, just for now, I’m content to look out at the world with blind eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The next chapter is a long way off because I'm recovering from removing my wisdom teeth and the new quarter is starting next week.  
> 2) There's a lot, and I mean, a lot, of foreshadowing in this chapter. When the time comes I'll talk about it in later chapters.  
> 3) I wasn't planning on it before, but I think I'll be writing shorter companion pieces to this fic, or maybe even a longer work. I'm definitely doing something from Iwaizumi's POV, though that still needs to be planned out. But I really love this universe and would love to flesh it out more.  
> 4) Happy New Year.  
> 5) This is a little earlier than I was planning because I've got a doctor's appointment tomorrow.


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